UNICORN PAINTING

Unicorn Progression

          As of yet, this particular unicorn doesn't have a name and both me and this little bucking and frolicking unicorn are open to any reader's suggestions.  He's an impatient little rascal; been bugging the hell out of me to finish his portrait.  He doesn't seem to buy the reasoning that an artist has to be in the mood to paint - he just calls me lazy and there is probably more truth in that statement than my feeble excuse.  I have to truthfully say, I have never really had to be in the mood to paint or be creative - what generally gets me focused is a deadline, and of course, when a painting isn't commissioned and I just paint whenever and whatever I feel like, a painting generally takes much longer to complete.  The only deadline I've actually stressed upon or given myself in regards to the unicorn paintings, is not to let my blog or Facebook entries lag too far behind, which is why I post photos of the painting's progress from start to finish - forces me to write something as well.

          Now, some of the readers may be wondering why I've chosen to paint unicorns and for the most part, it's mainly because of the small herd of unicorns that live here, on Golden Unicorn Farm.  And this I find to be a little strange, especially since they're so elusive and don't like anyone seeing them up close.  However, since they're somewhat vain; they really appreciate the idea of having their portraits painted and turning them into limited edition giclees on canvas, paper prints and of course cards, so that anyone who buys one will give it to a friend.  I doubt that the unicorns are nocturnal but that seems to be the only time they allow me to see them up close and only for the briefest of moments.  Because of the darkness, the only light being the moon and stars or the sun sinking below the horizon, I have to use a fair amount of artistic license on their details.  For instance: in this painting, the unicorn's eye was not visible so within the shadows of its long forelock tossed across its eye, I gave a hint of light, a mere twinkle, which is perhaps the unicorn's soul shining through the darkness.  

          This little spirited, spotted pinto is certainly a playful and most exuberant unicorn.  He's a yearling with the antics and mischievousness of a teenager that always seems full of p. 'n' v. (piss 'n' vinegar).  I'm looking forward to finishing this particular unicorn painting because already, another one is beginning to nag me about painting their portrait.  Of course, Snow Star believes her portrait will always be the best because she was the first to be painted.  Which reminds me, although the snow is melting very quickly, the pickings are still quite meager in the fields and forest; I had better go throw out another bale of hay near the edge of the trees - cheers, eh!       

FROLICKING UNICORN

Frolicking Unicorn Sketch on 11"x14" Canvas

          Although it's rapidly melting, an abundance of snow can still be seen from my studio window, especially throughout the fields and along the ridge of Green Mountain where our neighbours clear-cut their land; much to mine and the unicorns' chagrin, not to mention the other animals and birds that call Golden Unicorn Farm, and beyond, their home.  I'm really saddened by the fickle-mindlessness of people who continually destroy and obliterate vast forests for greed or because it's just an easy way for a landowner to make a buck.  I feel the value of our Golden Unicorn Farm is our living trees, bushes, wild flowers and grasses; I don't see dollar signs on any of them.  They are as much a part of me as I am of them; just their existence never ceases to keep me in awe of their wondrous attributes and I don't take their lives for granted just because I can still see an abundance of them (certainly not as many as before; can't even imagine how much has been thoughtlessly destroyed).

          Snow Star, the last unicorn that I painted hasn't been seen since her portrait was completed but in her place, I've noticed on more than one occasion, a very playful unicorn that looks very much like a pinto (patchy markings of white and another colour).  Like Snow Star, he's a very beautiful animal and I'm thinking, he must of seen Snow Star's portrait and now he would like me to paint one of him as well.  It's not that I haven't caught glimpses of him before but he's been showing himself a lot more often now, and for longer periods of time.  He's often seen leaping into the air, rearing on his hind legs and bucking across the field.  Sometimes though, when I least expect it, he will stop a short distance from the studio and look up at my window as if to say, "Better grab your brushes and paints, I'm not going to pose here for very long" - oh, he knows I'm here alright!  But like Snow Star, I only really get to see him when the sun has dipped behind the horizon and the silhouettes of the trees stand nakedly against a darkening sky.

          The Frolicking Unicorn has yet to be named, so if anyone thinks they have a suitable name for him, both he and I are all ears.  I'm not sure I should be posting photos of the unicorn's portrait as it proceeds because sometimes the paintings turn out very unsatisfying and I heave them in the trash can or burn them in the wood stove.  But at the moment, I feel confident, especially since the piebald or spotted unicorn seems to have approved the sketch.  Now that the pencil work is over, it's time to start applying paint - cheers, eh!   

SNOW STAR THE UNICORN

Snow Star - 11"x14" Acrylics on Canvas

          Another dump of snow - almost 2' deep and still snowing.  Snow Star, one of the elusive unicorns that call Golden Unicorn Farm home, can occasionally be seen cavorting in the deep snowy drifts; she's certainly in her element.  However, although more snow is expected, it's not very likely it will last too long, Snow Star will soon be heading deeper into the forest, especially since her fine white coat really stands out once the snow melts away.  She received a lot of great comments on Facebook about how beautiful she looks and as a result, has been acting a little more vain than usual.  She doesn't want me to sell the painting but that's not up to her; of course it's for sale!  However, since many people visit us during the summer and during our Arts Festival in August, when Sarah has her coffee shop open, are more than a little bit inquisitive and ask if we've seen any  unicorns living here, I'll be having some prints made and also cards.  That way, if they don't happen to see one, they'll have the opportunity to at least buy a card (suitable for framing) and be able to read a brief description of Snow Star on the back.  (If anyone is interested in purchasing the original, a print or a card, please send an email to lenwsherman@gmail.com - thanks.)

          Since the winter has been rather harsh so far, lots of snow and freezing temperatures, foraging for the forest critters being rather difficult, I've been putting some hay out for the unicorns.  Quite a few must be living here because I've occasionally caught glimpses of them as they poke their noses out of the forest to munch on the hay.  They are all equally as beautiful and exquisite as Snow Star; simply phantasmagorical creatures!  I'm considering, since Snow Star was so happy with her portrait, painting the other unicorns as well.  And, most likely, if I don't paint them too, they will think that I'm favoring Snow Star and I can't have that.  I'm not sure if unicorns are nocturnal, but it seems the only time I see them is after the sun goes down, which makes it impossible for me to take any photographs; I don't want to spook them with a sudden flash and have them stampeding through the forest at night; they could really do some serious harm to themselves.

          I guess I'd better end today's blog, from the looks of the falling snow, it's time to clear the walkways and behind the truck.  Also, since the temperature has risen and the hen house has thawed out, I had better clean it and the goat's stall as well ; believe me, 100 chickens do some serious crapping; the manure pile is turning into a small, snow-capped mountain - cheers, eh!  

NAME THE UNICORN

          Just when I thought spring was maybe going to happen, like candles on a birthday cake, good old winter blew out all the warmth.  Snow is turning everything white once again and although it's certainly beautiful to observe, the ridge almost obscure; I do believe I'm ready to swap it all for the dratted bugs that will soon be taking winter's place.

Steps 1, 2 and 3 of Unicorn 11"x14" Acrylic Painting

         Now that I finally finished painting the portraits and the Rockford Mill, I've begun painting one of the many unicorns that calls Golden Unicorn Farm its home.  She's a beautiful animal; snow-white, sleek and as elusive as the wind when she frolics through the trees and across the wee glen that lies a short distance away below my studio window.  Although she's a fine figure of an animal; I'm thinking and wouldn't be surprised, by the slight broadness of her belly, that perhaps she's in foal.  Since she won't let me close or stand still for any length of time while I paint her, my paint brush daubs, swishes and dances across the canvas in a blur whenever she makes a dash from the trees.  Sometimes, and I know that she knows that I'm looking at her, she will stand for a moment, shaking her head, flicking her thick white mane about her as if to say (since I know most unicorns are quite vain) "Am I not the most beautiful creature you've ever laid eyes upon?"
          Aha, I see the elusive princess peeking out from between two large fir trees.  Please excuse me for a moment or two as I grab my #5, series 2500 Currys brush and slash some paint across the canvas when she decides to make a dash for it.  I love the way the sunlight glints across her silvery body and sparkles throughout her mane and tail.  She was very quick that time, no prancing or showing off but even so, I managed to get a few more brush strokes on the canvas.  Oh, I should almost mention, that although I bought the brush at a Currys art store in Toronto; because unicorns are such magical animals, some of their magic rubbed off onto my brush when I tied it on a branch where they often hang out and couldn't help brushing up against it on a hot day or if they just plain didn't want to be seen.  However, that being said, it's still up to the artist to control this power and have good eye to hand coordination.
          So far, the painting, I feel, is coming along just fine and so does the unicorn; believe it or not.  Oh yes, she's seen it and very close up.  I set the canvas up on an easel near the trees, and being as curious as a cat, I'm pretty certain she's saw it because soon after, she came prancing out of the trees and struck a stately pose for a moment (she's such a poser) just before dashing across the glen.
          I'm trying to think of a name for her and  because the landscape is covered with snow and it's winter, I'd like to somehow incorporate this time of year or theme into it.  Snowy Mountain, Winter Magic, Snow Wind, etc. comes to mind.  If anyone reading this blog feels they have a good name for the unicorn, please let me know by leaving a comment, either here on the blog or on my Facebook page.  (I may make a contest out of it but I'd need to think of a prize (perhaps a print) since I can't give this painting away - I'll have to sell it because as magical as the unicorns are, money for brushes, paints and canvases, doesn't just  magically appear.) - cheers, eh!    
      

YIPPEE KAI-YAY - PAINTING IS FINISHED

Completed Painting of Mr. & Mrs. Walter Stockford

and the Stockford Mill on the Eel River

          I finally finished the painting!  It took quite a bit of time; turned out to be more work than I expected but then being somewhat of a perfectionist (must be the Virgo in me) I just kept slugging away at it.  Hopefully, Linda Hamilton will like the finished product.  I've had a lot of good comments about it as I showed the painting in progress on my Facebook account.  I've been considering putting the brushes and paints aside for awhile, sort of take a break, but as I look over just beyond this painting where it's resting on an easel, I sort of get the feeling that the unfinished painting of a unicorn wants me to get on with the job.  You know what unicorns are like.  Just because their poop is the colour of rainbows and they fart fairy dust; they think they're so darned special!  So I guess tomorrow, I'll change the dirty water, can't have dirty water, especially if I'm painting a white unicorn, otherwise it's coat might be the colour of month old mouse poop.

          Wow, it's getting close to 8pm and darkness has yet to arrive; thanks to daylight saving time.  Well, it was light until my wife came in to use my computer and telephone, then I had to stop writing and now that an hour has gone by, it's darker than Toby's... you know the place where the sun never shines.  Golden Unicorn Farm is starting to feel real Springy; been having a regular little heat-wave and the rain has been just pouring down.  A lot of the snow has disappeared, just running away faster than a disgruntled teenager that thinks there's a better place than home.  But it still wouldn't surprise me if old man winter has something diabolical tucked away up his worn-out, cold sleeve; I don't have the feeling that winter is over; not by a long shot.  Hopefully, another wild storm won't come screaming through again bringing a huge dump of snow; I'd kind of like to put the snow shovel away until next winter.
          I've been going to the cattle auction being held every second Monday and the time before last, this good looking little palomino stud with an intelligent eye sold for a measly hundred and fifty bucks.  Having worked with horses years ago and always admiring the stately beasts, I was half-way tempted to bid on him but hell, my riding days ended a long time ago.  The last horse I rode was a beautiful Arabian named Cheyenne.  He belonged to my daughter Paula who changed his name to Tequila Sunrise and by any name, he'd been well-trained and I figured if I could ride him, she could too.  Now, what gets me, if I had bought the little stud horse, last Monday, an excellent English saddle, complete with a sheepskin saddle blanket and a bridle sold for a mere seventy-five bucks - nah - don't even think about it old Lenny boy, you're so doggone sore already, riding a horse for over five minutes would most likely put me in the hospital. The way my back is these days, I have to be real careful or I could wind up sitting on my head.
          Daylight savings or not doesn't really increase the length of the day, no sirree, eyelids are beginning to weight as heavy as an anvil; expect it's time for me to mosey into the house; almost time to grab me some shut-eye - cheers, eh!

SWEATY MONDAY EVENING

          The weatherman is calling for rain; the next two days the sky will drip supposedly lots and lots of water, which should certainly be a harbinger of spring.  And, if not, at least a lot of the white fluffy stuff that's hanging out at our place and most likely all over New Brunswick, should melt away.  Of course, with all the expected moisture, the ice in the rivers and streams may break and cause all sorts of problems; flooding being at the top of the list.  Ah, the joys of winter; comes in like a lion and leaves in the same manner; it's just an angry season me thinks.
          I'm really looking forward to seeing the end of the snow; I may not be suffering from cabin fever but I expect the goat and the chickens are; been quite some time since Freya's (goat) little hooves and the chicken's feet have touched good old terra firma.  Freya may have to wait a little longer than the chickens because the snow is still 4' deep along the fence and that means Luki (dog) too, because Great Pyrenees are noted for their roaming traits.  When the snow is pretty much gone and the path leading down to the garden clears, I will have one hell of a job ahead of me.  I've been piling the manure from the barn and the coop just outside the fence and it's quite a little jaunt from there to the end of the garden with a heavy wheelbarrow filled to the brim - actually past the brim.
          It's been awhile since I've written anything here, was sort of waiting to finish the painting of the two portraits and the Stockford Mill before I wrote something, but I figured I should write something before then.  The problem is, I don't have a whole hell of a lot to say except there always seems to be a distraction that just begs for my time and seems to keep me from doing what I should be doing; it's not like Mr. Stockford is a spring chicken.  At 99.5 years of age, if I don't take a riding crop to my ass and get myself into gear, he may pop off before I reach the finishing wire.  There is still quite a bit of the painting remaining but starting tomorrow, I'm going to put a little high-test into my brushes and see if I can't have it completed by the time I head on out to the Farmer's Market in Woodstock on Friday.
          The studio, even though it's after 8:00pm, is bloody hot in here.  My body is as slick as ox snot on the toe of my boot because sweat is pouring off my brow and making it's way south.  At this rate, it'll fill my gumboots.  Since I cleaned out the hen house and the barn this afternoon, which was a sweaty job too and because some muscles, I didn't even knew existed are aching, I am soon going to have a soak in the tub, relax and read a book, maybe even take a cold beer with me too.  The novel I'm currently reading is tending to be a touch frightening, not in a Stephen King manner, but because it's relating to all the climate changes the Earth has undergone since man in our image and brain power has come into existence.  Not sure if building another ark will work this time once the oceans begin climbing faster than they already are - one thing for sure if it holds off a bit longer, the ark won't have to be as large as Noah's - the way we've been wiping out the animals and birds and many that are still remaining are on the endangered list today; it may only have to hold a few people and their pets.
         I do believe the heat in the studio is affecting my mind; time for me to post this blog and call it a night - cheers, eh!

A SYMPHONY OF THOUGHT

          I can-no believe it; it's not snowing nor raining but when I was walking on the top of Green Mountain earlier this afternoon, I could see quite a few approaching snow squalls in the north - like an army on the march, they appeared to be marching in this direction.  At the moment, I'm listening to Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 6 and if it were snowing, I think I could well imagine and visualize each snowflake to be a graceful ballerina flitting and twirling gracefully to the ground and joining the host of other ballerinas before them.  Perhaps looking through the eyes of an artist helps me put my mind and soul in places where others are blind or maybe it's the imaginative part of me that creates fanciful visions and thoughts; just because I can't reach out and touch the stars, doesn't mean that I'm not already holding them in my hands.
         As I listen to the symphony wafting throughout my studio, the cozy warmth of the wood stove chuckling near the door and just peacefully writing anything I please for my blog, all sorts of thoughts run rampant through my mind, especially the thought of completing the double portrait just to the right of me.  Their smiling eyes seem to be saying, now that you've created us on the blank canvas; quit procrastinating and get on with the job - don't you know that one of is now dead and the other is 99.5 years old?  Sure go ahead, I think to myself; make me feel guilty and yet, if the old man were to pack it in before I finish the painting, I just might feel a touch sad that he never got to see a painted portrait of him and his wife together.
          Death is such a curious event, I can't help but wonder what it will be like when I take my final breath and my big brown eyes stare sightless at my surroundings.  I keep thinking how much I will miss this place called Earth, all the people I've loved through my lifetime and the many things I just plain took for granted; yet loved just the same.  To never smell, hear, see, taste or touch anything again is something that is very difficult to grasp and comprehend and it saddens me.  I'm not much of a believer in the hereafter and if there is, I doubt very much that the likes of me will ever be allowed into such a revered place.  Perhaps that's why I look at things and attempt to grasp them within my being and hold on to them with a tenacity that would shame a belligerent mule.  I've taken so many mental snapshots over the years, special moments that I still enjoy re-running from time to time; not so much to fill my mind with melancholy, happiness or even sadness but because as long as I remain breathing, the people and critters I shared those brief moments with are still kept alive; they still breathe why I still breath..
          I'm waiting for a friend to arrive for Sunday dinner; he just lost his wife very recently and I can't imagine how he must be feeling.  I've lost a wife and more than just a few very close girlfriends over the years but not to death - they either left on their own accord or I did - each and everyone of them bringing a distraught pain, an ache and a loss of being to me, but to actually have one of them die while we were together, I can't even imagine how that would have felt.  Well, the maestro has laid his baton down and the symphony orchestra has ceased, not even an echo of their strings and horns can be heard reverberating throughout the studio and since my friend has just arrived with two cold beers, it's time to join him - cheers, eh!  

SNOW LADY, TAKING A DUMP AND HEADING SOUTH

          Saturday afternoon, just about time for a nibble and perhaps a cold beer; something that just sort of tantalizes the taste buds, but not before I finish writing this blog.  Snowing again; a heavy, wet snow; ideal for snowmen, snow forts and snowball fights, none of which interests this old guy very much.  The last snowman I made, well, not exactly a man but a snow woman, raised a few eye brows from the religious Mormons that were living across the street from me at the time.  They had about six kids, ranging from a toddler to the early teens.  My snow lady was a mammoth size, considering she was kneeling and I could just barely reach the top of her head to sculpt her long flowing hair.  I can't say she was a pretty damsel, her porridgy flesh all over her body was definitely showing she had a severe case of cellulite.  Of course she was nude and I guess what made the neighbours keep their curtains drawn was the fact that I made sure her breasts were unusually huge and the nipples of course outstanding and firm.  I can still remember the kid's faces, their big eyes staring and much rounder than usual as they looked up at the huge snow lady - especially the boys - couldn't seem to take their eyes of those gargantuan bosoms.  I kind of liked her big feet and hands, had a lot of fun sculpting the toes and fingers, especially the fingers, since they were sort of holding up her breasts.  I can't imagine what the Mormon neighbours thought, especially since some of their kids helped roll up big balls of snow for me to lift up and put them in place, but I did hear that they were sort of disgusted with me.  But then, they probably didn't like that I also drove a motorcycle and would sometimes crank up the music, get a little more than tipsy outside in the front yard with some of my friends, they no doubt would have thought of as unsavory.  However, I still don't understand why they don't drink tea or coffee (beer I can sort of understand) because they drink Coke by the gallon - talk about an overdose of caffeine; enough to rot your teeth, rot your guts and blow a huge hole in the ass of your jeans when you let one go - Hallelujah!
          I see the counter on my blog has almost reached 10,000 hits - doesn't mean to say everyone that's tapped into my ramblings has read anything I wrote, but still, a large majority have, so that pleases me - as it is, I talk enough to myself and no one listens.  Some say writing a blog is egotistical and maybe it is for me too; I don't know.  However, what I do know, is that I enjoy writing as much as I enjoy painting and I realize neither one is earth shattering; no one is clambering to purchase my paintings and stories - I don't kid myself, I know I'm hardly a Leonardo da Vinci or a Steven King, but my mind swarms with creativity that just has to have a release.  Also, the length of my blogs could be beneficial for some; I try to keep the length down so a person can comfortably sit on the toilet with a laptop  and take a meaningful dump - albeit, a cramped up, steaming 16-coiler might be pushing the comfort zone a tad.
          A lot of people here in Fosterville go south for the winter; places like Florida and Mexico, where I hear the temperatures are much warmer and at times hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk if one had a mind to.  For Sarah and I, the farthest south we get, come winter time, is Forest City, about 10 miles down the road.  Or, if we cross the Canada/US border to Maine, we go to Danforth, about 25 miles further south - either way, the temperatures are just as freezing cold and the snow is just as deep.  But hey, if a person is content where they are, a hot fire is burning in the wood stove and a cold beer is waiting in the fridge, then staying home is just fine by me and speaking of a cold beer - this thirsty old man is heading into the house - hear the kids have gone away until tomorrow - just might check out the wife a little closer (wink, wink) - cheers, eh!